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Jessica eyes my messy bun and overtly expensive clothes with suspicion, but doesn't say anything to me as I sit down at my desk and check my email. Between the endless emails from people trying to get ahold of Cheney, there is one from Edward.
I hope you slept well last night, and that Rosalie was not rude to you in any way this morning. She can be abrasive at times. I wanted to invite you up to my office for lunch today at 12:30.
The formality in message makes me grin, and I want to rush up to see him right this second.
I'll be there, I send back quickly.
"Someone's in a good mood," Jessica mutters, staring at her computer screen with disdain.
I ignore her.
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"How was your morning?" Edward asks as he lets me into his office, his secretary already at lunch.
"No complaints," I say. "Rosalie is cool."
He laughs softly and says, "I'm glad you think so. She keeps hounding me about you."
I bypass the chairs scattered around his office and sit myself on his desk. It's a huge, dark wood monster that I'm sure cost more than my life.
"What about me?" I hedge, glancing around at the generic looking art on the walls. I'm surprised at the lack of windows-just one small square of sky behind the desk.
He shrugs, closing the gap between us so that my knees are touching his thighs.
"Wanting to know who you are. Why you're sleeping at my place. If it's serious." His hands make their way to my hips, rubbing slow, lazy circles. My legs spread and I'm mentally begging him to press himself against me.
When he does, I make the most embarrassing noise, almost like a mewl and his responding smirk makes me blush. I can't take it anymore, I tug on his tie until his mouth meets mine. This kiss is hungrier than the last one, deeper and more urgent.I wish and wish that our souls matched. I want them to. I would rather be a hunted Real One than someone who isn't right for him in every possible way.
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Edward doesn't save the city tonight, instead he follows me to my apartment in his Vigilante outfit so I can collect some of my things-mainly my meds.
The room feels off when I step inside, not as stale as it should be from my absence. I grab a trash bag from the kitchen and start to fill it with some essentials. Meds, extra socks. I'm grabbing my phone charger from next to my bed when I realize the Real Ones books are gone, along with my pillowcase.
"What the fuck," I mutter, backing away. The only reason I can think of in terms of why the hell they would need my pillowcase is that they needed it for my scent.
When I see that my toothbrush is gone, too, my blood freezes in my veins.
Because now they have my DNA.
And I have no idea why.
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